who get lost between sighs and restless nights.

The Legacy [Day 11]

This is an attempt at a ‘Bop‘ (many thanks to http://www.napowrimo.net/ for a daily prompt.) I’m not exactly sure if I got the structure perfectly right- perhaps not, but I hope you like it, regardless:

in the mountain behind the valley

the man with the golden chain sips on his distasteful
mead, little men tugging onto his beard: the dirty
sunset cannot seep itself in behind the mountains where
nothing grows- disgusting mead, but mead that must
continue down his slit throat, mead that wouldn’t
forgive the consequences he must face

death is an enemy, a friend who mustn’t be turned away

the man with the golden chain cannot feel his
hands, his feet, his legs: the gashes with blood
oozing out of them are not worthy of attention
for bleed he must, to pay the price of having
loved someone, so the bitter mead stays and
curdles the insides of his chest, his heart, his lungs into
dust- a constant drum of all things great stuck in
his throat, for perhaps that would make it hurt less,

death is an enemy, a friend who mustn’t be turned away

when the sun turns its face, and trees grow apart
and little men forget the man with the golden chain,
there shall be flowers in the garden of the dead:
they would shy away of touch, and burn the ground
beneath their stems, and smell of disgusting, wholesome
mead granting men insanity and permanence, always

About:

I'm a 19-year-old budding poet from the hills of North India who absolutely loves people and their personalities (feel more than welcome to check out the "About" page of my blog).
My name, Kavya, literally translates into "a collection of poems," and I think the fistful of poetry I indulge in, I try to make of myself, helps me live upto my name.
I tend to write about the different people I have discovered inside of myself and others, concocting them into a definition, an image, a reality, a poem.